


So Tine, So Small, So Loved By All

by AshJuillet



Series: Challenges [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Names, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Married Couple, Old Married Couple, Panic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshJuillet/pseuds/AshJuillet
Summary: The story of James Potter's birth. Filled with intimate moments shared between Fleamont and Euphemia, humour (because it's me), and a small appearance from an enthusiastic house-elf who wants to meet her little master as soon as possible.
Relationships: Euphemia Potter/Fleamont Potter, Fleamont Potter & James Potter
Series: Challenges [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108157
Kudos: 10





	So Tine, So Small, So Loved By All

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: the birth of a child.

A small pop and a slow leak of water between her legs woke Euphemia up, but she remained calm. She fished for her wand under her pillow and cast a Tempus to check the time. She slowly rolled over and slid out of bed, placing her hands on her pregnant belly and her back to support herself.

She gently called out for their house-elf, and the small creature popped up in front of her. Euphemia murmured, "Pippy, could you give me a massage? My back hurts."

"Of course, Mistress," Pippy said, her wide brown eyes sparkling in excitement at making her mistress feel better. She crawled up onto the bed and began to slowly massage Euphemia's back, applying just enough pressure for her to relax.

"Are you okay, Mistress? Do you need Pippy to do anything else? Would you like some lemon juice? The Healer said that it's good for managing high-blood pressure—"

"Oh, no, thank you, Pippy," Euphemia said with a small smile. "My water broke, and—"

"The little master is coming?" Pippy exclaimed, and Euphemia shushed her. Pippy's ears drooped as her eyes filled with tears. "Pippy is sorry, Mistress."

"Pippy, I don't want to wake your Master up until I start having contractions, that's all. Would you please go and fetch some apricot juice instead? It's supposed to induce labour, and I cannot wait to meet our little one."

"Pippy can't wait either! Pippy will play with the little master and give him rides and feed him and take care of him!" Suddenly remembering what Euphemia had asked her, the house-elf cried, "Pippy will be right back, Mistress!" She disappeared with a pop, and Euphemia leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes, waiting for Pippy to come back.

When Euphemia had the glass of juice in her hand, she sipped on it and focused on what her Healer had advised her to do. A few minutes after finishing her drink, sharp pangs in her lower abdomen made her grimace. Still, it wasn't as terrifying as several other women had claimed it was, so she continued to breathe through the pain.

Once the contractions were spaced only five minutes apart, she knew it was time for them to go to St Mungo's. She reached her hand out to shake Fleamont awake. "Monty… Monty, wake up!"

"Five more minutes, love," Fleamont muttered, slapping her hand away. He rolled over to the other side and hummed appreciatively at something only he could see, a goofy smile forming on his face. "The Quaffle's going in!"

"And the baby's coming out," she hissed, shaking his shoulder again. "Monty, the baby's coming."

Those were the magical words. Fleamont rolled over and shot upright, his black hair mussed with sleep and his eyes wide with fear. "The baby's coming?" he exclaimed, hurrying over to her side. "We have to get to St Mungo's! The baby's coming! The baby's coming!"

And then, to Euphemia's amusement, Fleamont ran out the door and down the stairs, colliding with the doorway in his daze. Euphemia stared at his back and thought, _'Is he serious? He's leaving without_ me _?'_

She heard the fireplace blaze and a loud whooshing noise, which meant Fleamont had Flooed away. Euphemia placed her hand on the bedside table and slowly stood up, her hand on her belly. "He left me here!" she whisper-yelled, her eyes wide with shock. "The blithering idiot!"

She called Pippy again, and the house-elf helped her waddle down the meandering stairs, excitement pouring off of her in waves. "Is it time, Mistress? Is the little Master coming now?"

Another strong contraction hit Euphemia, and she grimaced as she clenched her fingers around Pippy's. "Sorry, Pippy... Yes, the baby's coming now. Could you get me to the Floo?"

"Of course, Mistress!" The house-elf assisted her to the fireplace just as the flames turned green and a frazzled Fleamont fell out.

"Shit! I'm so sorry, Effie! I completely forgot you!" he cried, hurrying over to her side to wrap his arm around her waist to support her weight.

"I hope you don't forget our baby somewhere—I won't forgive you then," Euphemia muttered, hobbling over to the fireplace, and Fleamont grimaced at the thought.

They Flooed to St Mungo's where the Healers were already waiting for them. Euphemia was quickly wheeled into the delivery room, and Fleamont hurried in after her, both their hearts pounding in hope, excitement and worry.

* * *

Fleamont had never seen anything more wonderful—except for his wife, of course. The baby in the crib was barely bigger than his arm and was swaddled in a soft green blanket. He hadn't opened his eyes for more than a few seconds so Fleamont wasn't aware of his eye colour. But the baby's lashes almost touched his tomato-red cheeks, which were full and round; Fleamont was filled with an irrational urge to either squeeze his son's cheeks or bite them. Stopping himself was difficult, and Fleamont distracted himself by touching the baby's little chin and grinning at how bony it was. His smile refused to leave as he tucked the baby's blanket securely around him.

"Could you stop that? He's fine," Euphemia said with a soft chuckle. She loved that Fleamont was already so protective of their son, but it was the nineteenth time he had done that since the Mediwitches had handed the baby to them.

"I just want to make sure he's at the right _womb_ temperature," Fleamont said, wiggling his eyebrows at Euphemia, who laughed and shook her head gently.

"He needs to be at _room_ temperature now, honey," she said. Even though he had repeated that joke for the past nine months, she couldn't help but chuckle at it.

"Just because he ran out of womb?" Fleamont teased, grinning over his shoulder at her.

Euphemia groaned loudly, closing her eyes for a few moments. "Are you ever going to stop that?"

"No, this is my time to shine. I'm finally a father!" Fleamont's eyes shimmered with tears at the realisation. "A… _human_ _baby_ depends on us!"

"Last I checked, yes, I gave birth to a _human_ baby." Euphemia rolled her eyes and yawned. "What should we name him, Monty?"

"How about Alastair? It's a sophisticated name—"

"Veto."

Fleamont scowled, but he knew he couldn't protest. Ever since they had found out they were going to have a baby, they had been arguing over the name they wished to choose. In the end, they had agreed they were allowed to veto three names each. Unfortunately, neither liked the other's choices.

Euphemia thought for a moment before she said, "How about Napoleon Potter?"

"Veto. Ugh, this way, we'll _never_ be able to choose a name!" Fleamont pursed his lips and tried to think of a way they could choose a name. Finally, a brilliant idea formed in his mind. "I know! How about we get someone else to choose a name for us? That Healer who helped you give birth… We could ask her!"

"You want a stranger to name our baby?"

"Sure. It couldn't be worse than Maximus," Fleamont teased lightly, and Euphemia bristled with irritation.

"Maximus wasn't as bad as _Leopold_!" she cried, trying to sit up and glare at him. She remembered the all-out name war they'd had during her sixth month of pregnancy and shivered with fear at the names he had come up with.

"See? That's why we should get a stranger to choose," Fleamont declared, nodding his head emphatically.

"Very well. Go find the Healer," she ordered, and Fleamont happily left the room.

He returned with the matronly woman, who looked bewildered by what they wanted her to do. Fleamont asked, "Could you please choose a name for our baby, Healer Elgar?"

"This is a huge decision, Mr Potter," Healer Elgar started to say but was interrupted by Fleamont.

"That's exactly why we need you to choose a name for our baby! Please, madam."

Healer Elgar scratched her chin before she looked over at the baby sleeping in the crib. Fleamont knew she had probably seen hundreds of babies before and would know what kind of names suited certain babies. He waited impatiently for her to give her decision.

"How about… William? James? Oliver? Corneli—"

"James Potter," Fleamont and Euphemia breathed out in unison, a feeling of rightness settling over them. Euphemia locked gazes with Fleamont and smiled. "That's his name, isn't it?"

"It's perfect," Fleamont murmured, squeezing Euphemia's hand. Turning towards the grey-haired Healer, he extended his hand to shake hers. "Thank you so much for your help, Healer Elgar. We really appreciate it. You've saved us nine more months of arguing."

"Thank you for giving me this honour, Mr and Mrs Potter. No one has ever asked me to choose their baby's name… It has always been a rite of passage for parents, and you decided to give _me—_ a simple Healer—this wonderful opportunity," Healer Elgar said, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Fleamont hadn't realised how his question would affect the Healer, and he awkwardly shook her head as she thanked them profusely and walked to the door. Once she was gone, he turned towards Euphemia and said, "Merlin, I did _not_ expect that."

Euphemia chuckled and gestured for him to come closer. She looked over at James, who was peacefully asleep in his crib. "We did good, didn't we, Monty?"

"He's absolutely precious, honey." Fleamont was unable to look away from their son's glowing face. Finally managing to pull his gaze away, he opted to look at his wife instead. Her stomach still bulged despite giving birth, but she had never looked more beautiful to him. They had been so worried when they had found out about the pregnancy—it had come as a surprise to them both. After all, they _were_ in their early sixties.

He kissed her wholeheartedly, pushing all his emotions—love, excitement, worry, hope, devotion—into that one kiss, and when he pulled back, he realised they were both panting. Fleamont whispered, "I cannot thank you enough for bringing him into this world, my love."

"Thank _you_ for giving me this precious gift. I love you so much, Monty," she murmured before yawning loudly, breaking the tension rising in the air. Fleamont chortled at the sound, and she slapped him good-naturedly. "Wake me up when James needs to be fed, will you?"

"Yes, honey, I'll take care of him. Get some rest—you deserve it," Fleamont said, a gentle smile on his face as he lowered his head to kiss her again. Even though he had complained about her bad breath while she was giving birth, he wouldn't waste any opportunities to kiss her.

Euphemia hummed appreciatively before she closed her eyes to go to sleep. Fleamont watched her for a few moments, still in awe of how strong and calm she had been throughout the whole ordeal. If he had been in her place, he would never have reacted so peacefully.

Once Euphemia was asleep, Fleamont turned towards his son. _My_ son _!_ James Potter. _What a simple yet beautiful name._ He was wonder-stuck by James' minuscule fingers—all ten of them!—and his delicate wrists. The little swoop hairdo his son sported would have looked terrible on anyone else, but as it was his son, he thought it was the greatest hairstyle in the universe.

He spent the next seven minutes staring intently at the little bundle from which tiny toes peeked from underneath, errant thoughts of worry, concern and excitement running through his mind. Would he be able to handle the responsibility of a child? Yes, he was older than the average new parent, but maybe that would be his weakness rather than strength. What if James wished to go flying and Fleamont's arthritis started acting up? _Wait a minute… I don't_ have _arthritis!_

"Daddy's already going bonkers," Fleamont muttered, gently taking James' wrinkly hand in his and pressing his lips to his knuckles. He slid his pinky into James' open hand and watched as the little fingers curled around it weakly.

And then, James opened his eyes and looked up at him, and Fleamont… Fleamont fell in love all over again. James was so tiny, so small, and he would be loved by all. Fleamont knew that even if he had had arthritis or dragon-pox or any other ailment, he would still do his very best to be there for his son as long as he possibly could.

Because there wasn't anything more important to Fleamont than his little family.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review. :)


End file.
